18 Hours
by writerdude3000
Summary: T for some cussing and other shenanigins! I'M BACK! THIS TIME WITH A STORY THAT TAKES PLACE ENTIRELY INSIDE THE 18 HOURS OF THE NYC BLACKOUT OF 2003! Exciting, no? THATS WHY I'M TYPING IN CAPS! :) ANYWHO- check it out, it promises to interesting!
1. Before

xX… Well, I'm back (I hope that fact doesn't scare most of you) and I'm glad to see so many new authors posting on the SOR page, keeping it alive… and Nanners, I read your latest story just didn't comment b/c my computer was/is fcked up! Well, anywho, here we go! …xX

He looked good. Well, at least, that's what he told himself. His dark hair fell over his forehead, barely reaching his eyes. He pulled on some corduroy pants and pulled his belt through the six holes. Closing it, he examined himself in the mirror. He pulled on a soft stripped t shirt and secured that with his geeky but cool college sweatshirt. He ruffled up his hair and surveyed himself twice over. Alright, he thought, not bad. He slipped on his shoes and pushed the mirror back towards the wall. He went to the counter and took out the piece of toast. His one room studio was nice, he told himself. Sparsely furnished, but comfortable. There was a funky rug he had gotten at a block sale, a beat up coach, a bed in one corner, pushed up against the wall, the mirror (of course) and a counter with a toaster, an oven, fridge and over accoutrements of dining. No dishwasher, but he was naturally a neat person so he didn't mind. Much. His window looked out over Houston Street and all the way to the Hudson River. It was chilly outside so he slammed his window shut. Carefully, he ate the toast. Wiping off the one of two crumbs that managed to get on his pants. After all, he was wearing the eight outfit that he had considered, so this was it! He glanced at the clock. It was early, not even time to go out. Looking over the kitchen he sat down at his desk and flipped on his computer. It didn't start, he unplugged it and replugged, trying again. This time it worked. Thank god for electricity he thought. As he logged into AOL the mechanical voice chimed:

"Welcome to AOL, Zack"

…………………………….

Music blared. Everywhere.

"Hey! Are we gonna leave anytime soon?" she yelled at her boyfriend. Her legs were beginning to kill her. Sure a party is fun, but not an eight hour wedding party for people you hardly knew. He strained to hear her.

"WHAT?"

"Go! Lets! Now!"

"WHAT?"

"Fuck it…" she said to herself, she walked out of the double doors and out into the chilly 59th street dusk. The sun was setting and the street was near deserted. After all, it was just a little side street. Her high top boots clicked on the pavement as the walked and leaned up against the building, brushing some imaginary lint off of her sweater and smoothing her short skirt, she pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and began to smoke. Deep puffs. Heavenly puffs. She puffed for a while, watching the world go bye. Just as she was stepping her cigarette she heard the door open, and magically, her good for nothing boyfriend appeared. Squinting in the fading sunlight. His suit was messed up and wrinkled and he looked like a man who had just spent 18 hours on a plane flight from Tokyo. In coach.

"Where'da go?" he said, leaning in to give her a kiss. She brushed him away,

"No. Todd, stop. I've been in that god forsaken banquet hall for, what, eight hours now? I've been ready to leave for seven of those hours!"

"The novelty wore off, eh?"

"Yeah. Sorta." Sarcasm stung hard in her voice.

"But who knows, maybe we'll be like them one day."

"Drunk?"

"Married..."

"Oh, yeah. Maybe…"

The stood in silence, he stroked her hair and finally leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. This time, she didn't push him away. He got down to tie his shoelace, coming back up he was holding a shiny something… wait. Diamond?

"Kathryn Margaret Brown. Will you fucking marry me?" he grinned like a naughty school boy.

………………………………………

"GORDON! HURRY UP!"

"I'm coming! I swear!"

"We're already half an hour late!"

Gordon hurried out of his bathroom in his swank apartment on the Upper East Side. His wife sat at the table reading the paper, dressed to the nines.

"Trump is NOT going to be happy!" she exclaimed.

"He'll deal, he'll deal…" he said, tying his bowtie.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, let's go."

She picked up the phone and dialed '3'.

"Hello? Phillip, yes, please bring the car 'round."

"Let's go."

The filed into the old, grand elevator. Descending eighteen floors.

"So, where are we going?" she asked.

"To the opening of Don's new hotel," Gordon replied purposefully to his wife, still fiddling with his bowtie,

"Help. Please." He laughed at his inability to tie a bowtie, "Marta, please." Marta leaned in and kissed his neck.

"I love my husband, even if he is always late and can't tie a bowtie," she laughed, finishing up the tie just as the exited the elevator and they paraded out and stepped into the Limo.

"I hope Don doesn't care that I forgot the gift…" Gordon laughed.

"GORDO!"

…………………………………..

Summer Jane Hathaway left her hotel room at eight o clock and proceeded down eight avenue to 42nd street. She went to the Shubert theater and used her key to get to the side entrance, walking up the stairs and into the many rehearsal rooms. She opened the door to the first one and all talking between the people dressed in rehearsal clothes ceased. A couple of the older cast members were in the room but most were downstairs working on the music.

"Sorry I'm late people." She took off her scarf, shirt and pants to reveal a unitard, perfect for dancing, "Um… Sorry, I'm a little disorganized. Carla, just run over the schedule please."

Carla read off the number that they would be choreographing. The Opening/Prologue scene. Summer tapped her foot silently to the tune and went over to the piano and gave Rex the music.

"Alright people, follow the steps." She poised for dancing, she qued rex and he began playing, "ok, Carla you're on first, you stand, than one two three, one two three, just like this. Saunter, don't walk, saunter, follow, come up and take my place, write this down! No bitchy walk, saunter! Than you three enter, like this, Carla moves down the stairs and across the stage, she's the focus, all enter know. Slowly, like so. Five six seven, five sex se…" she burst into laughter.

"Got something on your mind Sum?" James asked her, stopping his dancing. The music stopped.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I. Ow. Take five." She keeled over in pain. She was walking to the door, trying to reach through the hole in the unitard to find the bruise.

"Summer. I don't think that's healthy," came the voice of Rex at the piano.

In fact, it probably wasn't. It was a large, black and blue bruise the size of a silver dollar pancake. Stretching all over her pack.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

She paused before answering,

"I fell." She said. Quieter.

…………………………………….

Freddy Jones was smashing drunk, but he didn't care. Not even that it was only dusk. He didn't care. He just got into the elevator and began jabbing at the buttons. Praying for them to descend the eighty-three stories quicker.

……………………………………..

All over New York City, and the boroughs people lead their lives, all of them. Most had a million friends. Friends they'd never met. Friends they'd never meet. Or friends they'd try to forget. But on an unusually chilly day. Just as dusk approached. 4:10pm. The lights went out. And suddenly, things seemed different. Something was happening.

xX…corny? No? well, we'll see how it turns out. Like I said, my computer is a bitch so my spell check is telling me the work 'no' is spelt wrong and nothing else is. So whatever, excuse the mistakes! …xX


	2. Novel Idea

xX… alright, back again! …xX

Taken from the novel: It Was All Fun and Games, Right? The Summer Hathaway Autobiography

_**I always danced, for fun. Right? Yeah. Dancing was always my little thing that I loved to do. I could express myself, no one could ridicule because no one knew I did it. I danced at a studio called Studio X on Long Island. It was a mother of a drive, long and a bitch because there was always traffic. Lots of it.**_

**_I started when I was three, and than moved up. By the time I was 16 I was dancing at Julliard with the students there. I knew I had to go to Julliard. But I had other commitments. The band, I hated it. Loathed it. Fucking hated it. I knew my calling, but everyone thought it was something else. I knew I had to dance, but Zack, Katie, Freddy, Dewey they all 'knew' what was best for me! So for my 17th birthday they paid the tuition to a Music Management in LA. I smiled and thanked them, of course…_**

**_but I couldn't tell them that I had been accepted to Julliard and already paid for my first year. Well, my parents had, but whatever. Right? Wrong. At the end of year party I told them I was going to Julliard. They gaped at me, Dewey left the room. Freddy yelled at me, he was drunk and high but he still yelled at me. Katie gave me the cold shoulder. Soon, everyone had turned their backs on me. Did they not know that sometimes, people can't do what you want them to do? Do they honestly believe that I was a puppet of theirs? Something for them to throw around, do this Summer! Do that! Do this! That! Well FUCK YOU! I don't give a shit about them! They hate me, I hate them! I left New Jersey the next morning. Tired, defeated, alone._**

**_Julliard beckoned. That was that. They whole first part of the book you just read. My childhood. Everything, it had vanished. I had been forced to grow up to soon. Graduate high school early, you are young for the rest of your life. Its not the same. Life just isn't. I know this seems like an emotional slaughter fest for an introduction to part 2 of this novel but trust me. Its not, Follies, which I once choreographed was an emotional slaughter fest, people broke down on stage, it was a challenge. But I drew upon experiences that I'd had. Years after I left Jersey, years after I choreographed Follies, I met my old friend Katie. I mean YEARS later. She was married to a former band member and her marriage was crumbling. She had already been through one failed marriage. She smoked like no one I'd ever seen, and she wore more rouge than a can can dancer in Paris. She was a wreck. We became friends again, and than, weeks later when she was drunk, and on her fifth cigarette of the day she blew up, tipped over and took everything out on me. Screaming, yelled, throwing vases. THAT was an emotional break down. Well, my life didn't suck really, I mean it! It had its ups, and damn were they UPS! I've had a successful career and a very special man in my life who's been there for twenty nine years. So, if you put it all in perspective you realize that all in all, what actually happened during the years of my life didn't really matter. What matters is that I came out on top. That's the important thing. If you can push throw all the shit and mud slung at you, you can truly win at the fucking screwy game of life. Just look at me, I live on the Upper East Side and I attend every opening night, its like a tradition. I am pretty damn lucky. Look at where Katie is now. Dead. Put THAT in FUCKING perspective. Well, on to part two. See you there._**

xX… was that Ok? …xX


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